


Standing on a precipice

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Betrayal, Character Death, Coercion, Dark, F/M, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Matricide, Murder, Patricide, Prisoner of War, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rejection, Torture, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Voldemort has emerged victorious, the skirmish at Malfoy Manor turning in his favour.Draco Malfoy is a hostage to fortune, carried by the raging rivers of a madman's whims to a destination he can't avoid.Hermione Granger is a prisoner of war. Forced to make a horrifying choice, the path she turns down will set off a chain of events that will have a lasting impact on both sides of the battle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my submission for Unhappily Ever After! 
> 
> I chose a Draco/Hermione prompt. It was, "Sell your soul. Sign here."
> 
> I've really enjoyed participating and I hope you all like it.
> 
> This is a dark fic and contains a number of themes which some readers may find triggering, as per the additional tags.
> 
> A big Shout out to PotionChemist, my wonderful beta! Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> I own none of these characters, I merely take liberties with them, they belong to J.K, etc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **This work contains themes which may be triggering for some readers. It includes death, graphic violence and sexual assault/abuse including rape. If these are hard themes for you, please proceed with caution or not at all.**

Draco’s stomach churned as dread settled within his chest. He couldn’t believe it.

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was dead.

Greyback and some other snatchers had caught the so-called Golden Trio earlier that evening in the Forest of Dean, all because Potter, in a moment of carelessness, had fucked up and uttered the name _ Voldemort. _ With the taboo in place, the enchantments and charms they had been using to conceal their whereabouts were instantly destroyed _ . _

Draco had watched with a sinking feeling as the three teenagers were dragged unceremoniously across the drawing room at the Manor. Even without Greyback shouting triumphantly that he had captured Undesirable Number One, that red Weasley hair and Granger’s unruly curls were unmistakable.

Narcissa, who had shown the group into the room, summoned Draco forward to confirm Potter’s identity. Draco wanted nothing more but to run away in that moment, but everyone in the room was staring at him, so he had no choice but to rise from the armchair in which he sat and approach the trio. 

Potter had grotesquely swollen features — from a well-cast stinging hex, Draco surmised — and was virtually unrecognisable. His dark hair was long, almost to his shoulders, and hung in his face. 

“Well, Draco?” Lucius prompted, anticipation in his voice. “Is it? It is Harry Potter?”

Draco swallowed hard. He was certain that it was indeed Potter before him. He knew he should say _ Yes, it's Potter _ , but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't explain why. He _ hated _ Potter — him and his idiotic friends who supposedly could do no wrong. Still, he was reluctant to speak.

“I… I can’t be sure,” he finally said, hesitantly. He tried his best to avoid looking at Potter at all and eyed Greyback with trepidation. The demonic, violent werewolf absolutely terrified him.

“But look! Look at him carefully! Come closer!” Lucius urged, his eyes feverishly alight. “If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—…!”

Greyback interrupted then, angrily reminding Lucius that _ he _had been the one to catch Potter, and deserved the credit for it.

Lucius then examined Potter himself, noticing the distorted scar, and demanded Draco look again.

“I don’t know,” Draco said helplessly, before moving to stand beside his mother over by the fireplace.

Narcissa, skeptical, urged her husband to be sure it was Potter before calling the Dark Lord, lest they be wrong and face his wrath. However, after looking at the bound prisoners again, she recognised Granger, and Lucius identified Weasley.

From that moment, it was impossible for Draco to avoid any further involvement. Facing pressure from both his parents, he was forced to admit Granger and Weasley, at least, were standing before them.

Suddenly, his aunt Bellatrix burst into the room. “What’s this? What’s happened, Cissy?” 

Draco cringed slightly from her voice. How he loathed her!

She, too, recognised Granger. When Lucius shared his theory that Potter was among the prisoners, Bellatrix grew ecstatic and immediately moved to summon the Dark Lord, drawing back the left sleeve of her dress to reveal her Mark.

Lucius intervened, furious that Bellatrix would take the glory he hoped to claim for himself, and they argued over who would call their master. Then Greyback joined the fracas, insisting once again that the glory — and the gold the Dark Lord had promised to the one that brought him Potter — belonged to him.

Bellatrix suddenly paused, looking at the discarded gear the snatchers had scavenged when capturing the prisoners. A look of shock passed over her face and she strode over to examine the items, taking a glittering sword from the pile and ignoring the snatchers’ protests.

Before Draco knew it, his crazed aunt had stupefied all four of the snatchers who had accompanied Greyback and restrained the werewolf, forcing him to his knees with his arms outstretched. She rushed towards him with the sword in hand, demanding to know where he had gotten it and claiming Snape had sent it to her vault at Gringotts. 

Greyback, snarling viciously, denied all knowledge of the sword’s origin, saying it had been found in the prisoners’ tent. Eventually, Bellatrix released the werewolf and he paced restlessly around the room, still enraged but not daring to attack her.

She demanded the prisoners be sent to the cellar while she thought on what to do. Draco’s mother tried to protest but was overridden by Bellatrix, who looked positively deranged, insisting they were all in grave danger. She was so frantic that flames burst from her fingers, momentarily setting the carpet alight and scorching a hole in it. Draco slowly took several steps back, not wanting to be in range should she release another burst of uncontrolled magic.

Bellatrix ordered Greyback to take the prisoners downstairs, then stopped him to insist he leave Granger behind, saying she was going to question her. While Greyback hauled Potter and Weasley away, Bellatrix drew a small dagger from her robes, grinning with crazed glee, and Draco felt ill.

He was unable to turn away as his aunt forced Granger to the ground, screaming at her to tell her how she had acquired the sword, slicing into her soft flesh with the dagger all the while. Granger’s blood, bright red, flowed freely down her arm and soaked into the carpet, staining it almost black. _ How can her dirty blood be so red, so like mine? _ Draco thought sickly to himself. Her screams echoed in his head, and he wished he could cover his ears and turn away, lest he lose the tenuous hold he had on his roiling stomach and vomit all over the floor. 

Dissatisfied with the answers she had received thus far, Bellatrix began to _ Crucio _ Hermione, and the girl’s screams intensified. Draco was overcome with the sudden mad urge to draw his wand and curse his aunt, but knew that to do so would be a death sentence — not just for him, but likely his mother and father as well, not to mention Granger herself - he knew Bellatrix would kill the girl outright out of spite if she thought he cared about her. _ I’m helpless. Weak! _he cursed himself, unable to do anything else.

Eventually, Granger cracked, screaming that the sword was just a copy. Lucius ordered Draco to go downstairs and fetch the goblin that had been separately captured that evening. He knew better than to hesitate. Hurrying down to the cellar, shaking, Draco collected the goblin as quickly as possible before scurrying back upstairs. He refused to look at Potter and Weasley, who were looking on in anguish.

When he got back to the drawing room, Bellatrix was carving something into Granger’s arm, laughing madly. Moments later, there was a strange sound from the cellar. Lucius ordered Wormtail to investigate, and everyone else present waited, listening carefully.

“What is it, Wormtail?” Lucius called.

“Nothing!” Came the reply. “All fine!”

Those upstairs visibly relaxed and went back to observing the spectacle before them. Bellatrix had momentarily ceased torturing Granger, and instead was interrogating the goblin, who insisted the sword was indeed a fake. Satisfied, Draco’s aunt cried out in triumph and drew back her sleeve, pressing her finger to the Mark on her arm.

Draco felt the Mark on his own arm burn in response, and dread burned in his chest. _ He _ was on his way, and furious. 

“I think we can dispose of the Mudblood,” Bellatrix cackled and turned back to Granger with her wand drawn. Granger lay unresponsive and barely conscious at his aunt’s feet and Draco felt tears stinging his eyes, certain he was about to see the brilliant witch before him perish.

“Noooo!” came a cry, and everyone turned in surprise to see Weasley emerging from the entrance to the cellar, closely followed by Potter. Before anyone could react, Weasley had disarmed Draco’s aunt with surprising skill. Potter, with his seeker’s reflexes, caught the wand as it flew through the air and the blond felt a stab of bitterness at Potter’s dexterity, even as they were running headlong into a room full of Death Eaters.

Potter managed to disarm Draco’s father and, for a few fleeting moments, Draco’s heart lifted, thinking they might yet win the fight.

His hopes were dashed mere moments later when his aunt, recovering quickly from the shock of being disarmed, threatened to open Granger’s throat with her dagger.

Draco cursed the stupidity of Potter and Weasley, who immediately surrendered. Bellatrix ordered Draco to collect the wands they had thrown to the floor. He glared at the two before him as he moved to obey. _ Fucking idiots! Why didn’t you just kill her? _He screamed at them in his head.

Suddenly, their old house elf, Dobby, appeared and dropped a chandelier on his aunt, trapping both her and Granger beneath it. Weasley rushed to rescue Granger from beneath the ruined hangings and dragged her clear while Potter attacked Draco, snatching back the wands. Draco could tell the elf intended to Disapparate from the Manor with the Golden Trio in tow and watched avidly, sure they would be able to flee.

His hopes were once again crushed, however, when something shiny whizzed across the room. Draco watched helplessly as the elf crumbled to the floor, his aunt’s silver dagger having pierced his heart.

_ Leave the elf, he’s dead! There’s nothing you can do! You have the wands, go! He’s coming! _Draco urged silently, but foolish Potter and Weasley wasted precious seconds weeping over the stupid creature who had tried to help them, the wands forgotten, while Granger struggled to raise herself to a sitting position.

Moments later, he felt the icy chill in his bones that told him that the Dark Lord had arrived. The fearsome man who stalked Draco’s nightmares stormed into the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” He hissed, his dark eyes darting around the room. “Who dares interrupt me? I expressly told you all, _ do not _ summon me for anything less than—” 

The Dark Lord suddenly stopped, and a triumphant grin appeared across his serpentine face as his gaze landed upon the bespectacled wizard crouching before him, eyes wide in shock.

“—Harry Potter.”

Before either of his former classmates could react, the Dark Lord had bound them both, ignoring Granger completely. He sauntered over to them, chuckling. “What have we here? Potter, yes… and a Weasley.”

“And Potter’s Mudblood, my Lord!” Bellatrix cried, rushing over to her master and kneeling at his feet.

“Yes, yes, Bella,” the Dark Lord said impatiently, pushing her away. He stood before the huddled group, regarding them silently. Without warning, he pointed his wand at Weasley.

“_ Avada Kedavra!” _

“Ron!” Potter screamed as the redheaded boy slumped forward. 

“No,” Granger whispered, one weak and bloodied arm reaching towards her friend. Draco saw the devastation in her eyes and felt a rush of guilt, despite how much he had loathed the redhead.

Greyback scuttled forward, crouching before his master. “My Lord! It was I who captured the Potter boy and his friends!”

“And what would you ask of me, Greyback?” the Dark Lord murmured. “I shall reward you.”

“Please, my Lord… the girl,” Greyback indicated Granger. “I would have her.”

“The Mudblood…? Very well,” he nodded, waving his hand dismissively. “Do what you wish with her.”

“You leave her alone, you bastard!” Potter screamed at Greyback.

“Silence!” the Dark Lord barked, as the werewolf scrambled over to where Granger was slumped, grabbing her possessively. She fought weakly against his grip while Potter struggled against his restraints to no avail.

“Now, Harry,” he murmured, “I believe you owe me a rematch. We will duel again.” 

Draco watched as Potter was released from his bindings.

“Give the boy a wand,” the Dark Lord ordered, looking around the room at no one in particular.

“Draco!” Bellatrix urged, rising to her feet. “Give Potter one of those wands! And give mine back to me!” She strode over to him, shoving him towards where the abandoned wands lay on the carpet.

Draco moved quickly over and did as he was bid, handing his aunt’s wand back to her and shoving another — his father’s — at Potter.

Potter refused to take it and stood staring defiantly at the Dark Lord.

“Duel me, boy!” the dark wizard commanded.

“No!” Potter snarled.

Draco watched in fascination as the snakelike man pointed his wand at Potter, who was forced to take the offered wand and bow, the strain showing on his face as he attempted and failed to resist the curse.

“Yes, Harry, bow to death,” the Dark Lord sneered. “And this time, with another’s wand, there will be no ghosts to save you.”

_ Ghosts? _ Draco wondered. He knew from overhearing his parents that the Dark Lord had attempted to kill Potter in fourth year, using the Triwizard cup as a portkey, and had failed — something to do with their wands — but he had not heard anything about ghosts.

Potter suddenly threw a curse, and the Dark Lord jumped back, quickly throwing up a shield charm. “Very _ good, _Harry!” he laughed. “Take every opportunity! Do not hesitate!”

The roomful of people watched silently as Potter and the Dark Lord traded curses and hexes. Draco found himself surprised at Potter’s skill. _ It must be something to do with that Dumbledore’s Army thing he was involved in in fifth year, _ Draco thought to himself. _ Somehow, he and the others really were preparing. _

For a short time, Draco allowed himself to hope that Potter might actually defeat the evil man who had invaded his home once and for all. But his silent plea was dashed when one of the Dark Lord’s curses finally got through Potter’s defenses, opening up a wide gash on his leg and causing him to fall. Moments later, he was disarmed and helpless on the ground.

Potter, clutching his leg, held his head high as the Dark Lord approached, smirking, his robes swishing about his feet.

“A fine duel, Harry,” he rasped. “You fought admirably, and you face death with pride. I will reward your bravery and be merciful.”

Draco watched, resignation filling him with despair, as Potter glared at the assembled Death Eaters and other supporters. His green eyes locked on Draco’s grey ones, silently accusing, before he slid his gaze forward again and stared down his fate.

The Dark Lord pointed his wand. _ “Avada Kedavra.” _

The Boy Who Lived was no more. Granger’s anguished, haunting scream of grief impaled Draco’s heart just as surely as his aunt’s dagger had impaled the heart of the elf. He closed his eyes tight to try and hold back the tears that threatened, a quiet sob escaping him, as the Death Eaters cheered. 

  
He was doomed. They were _ all _doomed.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione’s heart was shattered into a million pieces, and she was terrified. She had held out hope after Ron and Harry had escaped the cellar that they might have a chance to escape, but those hopes had been irrevocably quashed the moment Voldemort arrived at Malfoy Manor.

With Greyback’s long and grimy fingers tangled in her hair, she sobbed. Through the haze of tears, she saw the blurry image of Draco Malfoy watching her, his face twisted into a grimace. What was he feeling? Was he as squeamish in the face of Ron and Harry’s deaths as he had been when facing Dumbledore’s demise? Was he simply disgusted that the people he had so loathed were sullying his floors with their bloodied corpses? Was he sickened by the very sight of her, a  _ Mudblood, _ leaking her foul fluids into the plush carpet beneath her?

“Why didn’t you do anything?” she screamed at him. “You gutless blood purist piece of shit! You fucking ferret! You’re lower than his filthy serpent! You—”

“Shut up, bitch!” Greyback yanked her head back roughly and slapped her in the face with his free hand, making her ears ring.

“Take the Mudblood away, Greyback, before I change my mind and kill her,” Voldemort growled.

“Yes, Master,” Greyback replied obsequiously and began to drag her away, one hand still tangled in her sweaty locks.

Hermione stared desperately around her, looking for help even though she knew none would be given. Indeed, everyone in the room was jeering, laughing, and pointing at her. Bellatrix stepped forward to wave sardonically. “Bye, bye, Mudblood,” she cackled. “Enjoy being  _ dog food! _ ” she shrieked with maniacal laughter.

“Fuck you, you mad bitch,” Hermione managed to rasp.

“I’m not the one about to be fucked!” Bellatrix retorted, to more laughter, and Hermione’s heart clenched with fear. She desperately glanced a final time around the room, looking for a way out. Her eyes locked once again on Malfoy’s, and through the haze of terror she saw a desperation and helplessness in his that strangely mirrored her own. Then she was dragged through a doorway and away from those strange grey orbs.

Hermione was pulled down a hallway. The only sounds she could hear were her frenzied breathing and the werewolf’s mutterings. A door opened and they were suddenly in a small, dark, dirty room — she guessed it must be Greyback’s own room in the Manor.

It had the musky smell of a wild animal’s den and the nauseating undertone of blood and meat. Hermione’s stomach clenched and she fought the urge to vomit. Greyback dropped her roughly on the floor and she sighed in momentary relief as the pressure on her abused scalp relented, only to shriek in pain as she rolled onto her mangled arm. In the dim light afforded by the open curtains, which allowed a soft silver of moonlight to flow into the room, she lifted her arm and whimpered as the extent of the damage truly became apparent.

Carved into her flesh was the word  _ Mudblood, _ written in jagged and ugly letters. It still bled slightly, and it burned like fire.

“Fine work,” murmured Greyback, examining the wound as he towered over her. “That woman would make a great werewolf, even if she is a pain in the arse.”

“Why don’t you go bite her, then?” Hermione spat venomously.

Greyback threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I’ve been tempted, girly. Sorely tempted. But it would burn the Dark Lord’s arse if I were to turn his little whore and soil her  _ pure heritage _ . As much as I like the idea, I like my own skin more.”

“Cowards always do,” Hermione sniffed.

Greyback’s face contorted into a wolf-like snarl at her jibe and he darted forward, snatching a handful of her shirt and hauling her to her feet. “Do not insult me, girly, or I’ll only hurt you worse,” he growled.

Hermione trembled under his grip. His breath was acrid as it blew hot on her face, and she attempted to twist away. He held her firm, leaning in to sniff at her throat.

Abruptly, he dragged her across to the bed and threw her down on the filthy blankets, heaving his bulk on top of her and grinning lavisciously. “I’ll have you now,” he leered.

“No!” she cried, beating fruitlessly at his barrel chest and large head with her fists. “Get off me, you bastard!”

“Yes, fight,” Greyback panted. “It makes this much more entertaining.” He tore roughly at her top, tearing it down the middle and exposing her breasts clad in a plain cotton bra. Hermione stopped flailing at the werewolf and instead attempted to cover herself, sobbing with terror and shame. Next, he moved on to her jeans, yanking them open with such force that the button popped off and the zipper came apart, before dragging them down her legs.

“Please,” Hermione sobbed helplessly. “Please, please don’t.” 

“You beg so sweetly, girly,” Greyback whispered as he tore her underwear from her body. 

Hermione lay trembling as he pulled his trousers down and positioned himself over her. She could feel him at her entrance. Like the rest of him, he felt abnormally, terrifyingly large —  _ although,  _ one disjointed part of her brain reasoned _ , she didn’t really have anything to compare it to, given she was a virgin, or at least had been up until this point _ — 

Her internal ramblings were rudely and excruciatingly interrupted as the werewolf thrust into her without warning, and Hermone screamed in shock and pain, resuming her efforts to fight him off. Greyback merely laughed, and continued his assault on her body.

“So tight, girly,” he purred. “I think I’ll keep you.”

Hermione continued to batter uselessly at his torso, tears streaming down her face, as his thrusts increased and became more erratic. Pinned by his massive form, she could do nothing more than hope it would be over quickly. What felt like an eternity later, he groaned loudly and pushed into her one final time. She had but a moment to feel a distant sense of relief that it was over.

Then he bit her shoulder at the height of his climax and she screamed anew, molten lava flowing from the bite and extending throughout her whole body, before everything went black.

* * *

Hermione woke some unknown length of time later. He shoulder throbbed and burned, causing her to cry out in pain. Through the haze of agony she registered that a pre-dawn light was seeping through the open windows, giving her enough to see by.

Sitting up, she gingerly extended her shoulder and sobbed at the sight before her. The bite Greyback had left was deep and savage, the flesh a ruined mess. She felt her gorge rise and quickly leaned over the side of the bed, vomiting. The strain caused the pain to intensify, and the force of her retching caused the wound to bleed anew.

Dimly, she heard a door open and shuddered at the sound of his voice. “Ahh yes, girly. You’re feeling it now, aren’t you? You’re marked as mine, you are.”

Hermione couldn’t summon the strength to respond, instead lying slowly back down on the soiled sheets, panting and exhausted. She felt the bed dip as Greyback leaned over her prone form, sniffing at her hair and the wound.

“I’d like to have you again… you smell even sweeter now you have my scent on you. But I have been ordered by the Dark Lord to carry out a mission. You’ll stay here until I get back.”

“Please… my shoulder, it hurts,” Hermione whimpered. “It needs a healer.”

Greyback laughed. “Dark Lord won’t spare no healer for the likes of you, girly,” he snorted. “You being a Mudblood and all, and mine. You’ll just have to endure.”

“The bleeding must be stopped and the wound cleaned, or it could become infected. I’m sure you don’t want me to die so soon after you went to the trouble to acquire me,” Hermione tried to reason with the werewolf, hoping to appeal to his territorial, possessive nature.

“That would be a pity,” mused Greyback. “I’m not bored with you, yet.”

“A bath and a change of sheets would also help prevent infection,” Hermione tried. 

“Don’t be getting any fancy ideas, girly,” Greyback growled at her. “I’ll ask about getting that bite seen to, and nothing more.”

Hermione nodded her understanding. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The werewolf simply grunted in response. She felt the mattress bounce up again as he stood, and heard his heavy footsteps cross the floor. Moments later, she heard the door close and lock.

_ Get up, get up!  _ She willed herself.  _ Find a way out! A way to defend yourself! Anything! _ But try as she might, she could not summon the strength to rise from the bed, let alone explore her makeshift prison. Instead, overwhelmed by the exhaustion that had been hanging over her since she woke up, she slept.

Hermione could sense bright light streaming into the room when she regained consciousness. Her shoulder still felt like molten fire had been poured on it, but she registered a damp cloth on her forehead. She sighed at the blessedly cool sensation, and cracked her eyes open, turning her head to the side. She started slightly to see a pair of bulbous eyes looking back at her, and the sudden movement made her hiss as a jolt of pain passed through the wound.

The eyes were set in a small, narrow face with a pointy nose, and large ears sat atop the slightly misshapen head. 

“Miss must keeps still while Tippy cleans the wound,” the elf said softly.

“Thank you, Tippy,” Hermione replied, trying to relax her body as much as possible. “May I have a pain potion?”

“Tippy is sorry, Miss, but she has been ordered by the Master to only clean the wound to prevent infection, as the Miss told her Mister. Tippy has been told she is not allowed to give the Miss any other potions or treatments.”

“Greyback is  _ not _ my Mister! He will never be my Mister! I am his captive!” Hermione hissed furiously. The effort caused her more agony, and she wept with frustration and pain. “Please,  _ please,  _ Tippy. Just a small potion. I won’t tell anyone, I promise! It hurts so much.”

Tippy looked conflicted, wringing her small hands and looking away from Hermione. “Tippy is very, very sorry, Miss.” She paused and looked at the trembling witch in front of her, then gave her a wooden spoon. “Miss should bite down on this. Tippy will clean this would now.”

Hermione nodded in resignation, took a deep breath and placed the handle of the spoon between her small teeth, then fisted her hands in the sheets. The elf began to work on the bite, and Hermione bit down so hard on the wood she dimly felt it splintering. Around the obstruction in her mouth, she screamed.

When Tippy had finished cleaning the wound, Hermione’s body was drenched in sweat. She could smell herself and wrinkled her nose in distaste. The scraps of her clothes still lay in tatters around her where Greyback had torn them from her frame before forcing himself on her, and now she shivered with cold.

“Tippy… did your Master forbid you from allowing me a bath?” Hermione asked tentatively. Her heart sunk when the creature nodded silently, hear large ears flapping.

“Did he… did he forbid you from casting any cleaning spells?” she tried, with dim hope.

The elf thought carefully, staring at Hermione all the while.

“The Master did not mention any cleaning spells to Tippy,” she finally confirmed. Looking tentatively around the room, the elf added quietly, “Tippy will cast a small cleaning charm around the Miss.” 

Tippy snapped her fingers and Hermione felt a warmth move down her body, starting from her head and flowing down to her toes, and sighed with contentment. “Thank you, Tippy,” she smiled. 

“The Miss is welcome. Tippy must go now,” the elf gently pulled the grubby blankets up around Hermione’s shoulders, gathered up the few items she had used and disappeared with a crack, leaving the witch feeling hollow and empty. Knowing terribly alone she was, Hermione fell once again into restless slumber.

She was pulled from her uneasy sleep by a rough hand shaking her. “Get up, girly. Dark Lord would speak with you,” Greyback’s gruff voice spoke.

“No,” Hermione replied hollowly.

“You’ll come,” Greyback ordered, yanking her forcefully from the bed.

Hermione felt the shock of cold air on her skin and remembered she was naked.

“All right, I’ll come,” she acquiesced. “But please give me something to cover myself.”

Greyback leered down at her. “You look just fine as you are, girly,” he said. “In your skin, not burdened by clothing.”

“Please,” she pleaded. “I’m cold, and I would like to keep at least a scrap of my dignity.”

Greyback considered. “I will allow you coverings if you submit to me immediately after,” he bargained. “But if you refuse, I’ll have you anyway and you’ll go before the Dark Lord as you are.”

Hermione shivered with revulsion, but knew she had no choice. “Very well. I will do as you say,” she whispered.

Greyback grinned in triumph and fetched one of his shirts from an untidy pile in the corner, tossing it to her. She tried and failed to catch it, and was forced to scrabble on the floor to pick it up.

Carefully, she pulled the shirt on and buttoned it up, mindful of her shoulder. Though it was no cleaner than the rest of the room, it was long enough to cover her completely, and she sighed with relief.

“Hurry up now, girly,” Greyback snapped impatiently. “Dark Lord don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Obediently, Hermione followed Greyback out the door. He led her through the twisting, maze-like hallways until she found herself back in the drawing room. Voldemort sat on a large wingback chair in the middle of the room, his Death Eaters around him. Bellatrix sat by his feet, gazing up at him with mad adoration.

Hermione looked at the dark wizard’s face — serpentine, with slits where his nose should be and small, dark eyes set in a large head with translucent skin. He was truly repulsive. She could not understand how anyone could look upon his face the way Bellatrix did. Was there no end to the woman’s madness?

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted when Voldemort spoke. “Ahh, Greyback. You have brought the Mudblood. Very good. Bring her over here.”

Greyback took hold of Hermione’s arm and dragged her over to stand in front of the dark wizard.

“I have a task for you, Miss Granger,” he said.

“I’ll not work for you!” Hermione snarled. “You’ll have to kill me!”

Voldemort laughed, and the rest of the Death Eaters quickly joined in.

“That would be no fun at all, Miss Granger. I can’t use you to eradicate the Order if you are dead.”

Horror seeped into Hermione’s veins, ice-cold, as Voldemort’s words sunk in.

“I would  _ never _ betray the order!” she snapped angrily. “Nothing in this world can make me do it!”

“Stupid, filthy Mudblood!” Bellatrix laughed from her position beside Voldemort. “The Dark Lord can make you do anything!”

“Hush now, Bella,” Voldemort spoke to the witch indulgently. “Give her a chance to come to her senses.”

“ _ Nothing in this world,”  _ Hermione repeated, folding her arms defiantly. The movement made her wince in pain.

“Let me turn her, my Lord,” Greyback spoke up behind her, eagerness in his voice. “The full moon comes in a week.”

“Silence, Greyback!” Voldemort snapped. “She’s no use to me as one of your creatures!”

The werewolf stepped back and dropped his head, cowed.

“Well, Miss Granger?” Voldemort prompted, turning back to Hermione. “If you agree to help me, I’ll give you more comfortable lodgings, clothing, and allow you to bathe. I will grant you pain potions, and a healer to see to your wounds. And—” he paused to glare at Greyback, who had begun to mutter in protest “—I will ensure the werewolf does not treat you so roughly.”

Hermione felt a violent twist in her heart. How she wanted to bathe, to have the bite and her arm tended to, to rest in a clean bed and be away from Greyback! But she knew she could never betray her friends for the sake of her own comfort. It was not what a Gryffindor did. Not what a true friend did.

“Nothing. In. This. World,” Hermione repeated between clenched teeth.

“Foolish girl,” Voldemort snapped, his features contorting in anger. “If you will not work for me willingly, I will make you.”

He lifted his wand, and Hermione braced herself to try and resist the  _ Imperio _ she was certain was about to come.

Instead, Voldemort whispered,  _ “Legilimens.” _

Cold, probing wires flowed into Hermione’s brain, stabbing like tiny icicles. Images began to flash before her eyes. Her, Ron and Harry being captured by Greyback and his band of snatchers. Destroying the Black family locket, one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Bill and Fleur’s wedding. The skirmish with the Death Eaters when they had tried to move Harry from the Dursleys’ house. And… her parents.

Hermione desperately tried to wrench herself away, to force Voldemort out of her mind, but it was impossible. He was too strong, and she was weakened and without her wand. She was powerless.

“No,” she whimpered, sliding to the floor.

Voldemort suddenly withdrew from her mind, causing Hermione to shiver and gag. He hissed lowly in triumph. “Australia. You Obliviated your parents and sent them to Australia to keep them out of harm’s way. How perfectly Syltherin of you, my girl,” he sneered. 

“You leave them alone, you bastard!” Hermione screamed at him from the floor.

“Silence!” Voldemort snapped. “Greyback! Take her away.”

“No! Stay away from them!” Hermione continued to scream as Greyback hauled her up and dragged her out of the room. She fought, causing the bite to tear open and start bleeding again, but she didn’t care. “Leave them alone! Please!”

Cruel, mocking laughter followed her down the hallway as Greyback dragged her back to his room, and Hermione despaired.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco trembled as he watched Granger being hauled unceremoniously from the room, the raucous laughter from the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters ringing in his ears. He was still pained by her condemnation of him the day before, each of her words piercing deeply like his aunt’s silver dagger had pierced the elf.

_ I can’t believe Granger Obliviated her parents, _ he thought. _ She had so much potential. She could have been a truly powerful witch. _Anger flared in Draco’s chest. Why did the Dark Lord have to come back? If not for him, maybe he could have had a normal life. One that didn’t involve him being trapped in this house with the madman and his band of fanatical followers, a Mark branded on his own arm. A Mark he hadn’t wanted to take.

Draco thought back to when his life had changed forever. It was just after the fiasco at the Ministry, where the Death Eaters — including Lucius — had tried and failed to acquire the Prophecy that had foretold the Dark Lord’s demise. In a rage, he had demanded recompense and had killed several of his followers as punishment.

To punish the Malfoys, he declared that Draco must take his father’s place, and therefore the Mark. Narcissa had wept and pleaded with the Dark Lord to spare her son, to give him more time, to wait until he came of age. But he would not hear of it, and Draco was Marked that very night. The pain had been excruciating, so bad that he had passed out. 

He regained consciousness to the haunting sound of his mother’s blood-curdling screams. She was being punished for her insolence, for daring to try and deny the Dark Lord his vengeance. He could do no more than watch helplessly from the floor, tears pouring silently down his face. He could feel her pain, thrumming through his veins like the juice of a venomous tentacula as she was _ Crucio’d _ over and over.

When she was finally released from the curse, Draco was permitted to take her up to her room, where he tried to make her as comfortable as possible. In a rare display of emotion, she held him and wept, apologising repeatedly for being unable to protect him from the Dark Lord’s wrath and influence.

“I never wanted this for you, my Dragon,” she confessed, cupping his face with her hand. “I had hoped to shield you from all this foolishness, but your father… both of us were afraid to defy him by refusing to return to his side. We knew what would happen to us, and to you, if we did not.”

Narcissa herself had never been branded, but her involvement as the wife of a prominent Death Eater had been unavoidable.

“I only ask that you be careful,” she continued, softly. “Do as you are commanded, and try to please him. I would not be able to bear it if I lost you.”

Draco’s heart broke, listening to his mother’s words and seeing the normally proud, poised woman reduced to such a weakened and emotional state. He promised fervently to try and keep her, and himself, safe for as long as they had to endure the Dark Lord’s presence. Secretly, he hoped the light would eventually win, that Potter and his friends would somehow discover the secret weapon he vaguely understood Dumbledore had been searching for prior to his death.

When Potter, Weasley and Granger had been brought to the Manor, however, he had known all hope was lost. Now, Potter and Weasley were dead and Granger was the plaything of that… that _ animal, _Greyback. Draco knew he had bitten her, savaged her soft flesh. He had bragged about it after the act, saying how he had marked her as forever his.

Later, when the werewolf begrudgingly asked Lucius to send an elf to see to the wound and ensure she did not develop an infection, lest she die before he had had his fill of her, Draco allowed himself the foolish fantasy that the elf his father sent would be like Dobby, loyal to Potter and his friends, and risk her safety by helping Granger escape.

Deep down, though, he knew the creature would never do it. She was bound to the Malfoys, bound to obey, and Lucius had ordered her to only clean the wound. She was not permitted to administer any pain potions, nor could she allow the girl to bathe. Lucius was known to the elves to be a cruel master, one who would not hesitate to order them to punish themselves — and each other — in a most violent manner.

“Draco.”

He was jolted from his reverie by the dry hiss of his Master. He immediately bowed his head low in deference. “Yes, Master? What do you wish of me?”

“The Granger girl, as you will have heard, Obliviated her parents and sent them to Australia, thinking she could keep them away from us,” the man chuckled. “I have looked inside her mind and have seen all that she knows. She made sure to avoid personally knowing their exact location, but she did give them a name. Wilkins.”

“What will you have me do, my Lord?”

“You will go to Australia with McNair, Dolohov and Bellatrix,” the Dark Lord ordered. “You will hunt down her parents and bring them here, to me. We will use them as surety to force the Granger girl to betray the Order.”

“A fine idea, my Lord!” Bellatrix exclaimed, throwing herself at his feet. “We will not fail you! Of this I swear!”

“Be sure that you do not,” he replied, threateningly. “Or you will suffer consequences beyond your darkest nightmares.”

Draco swallowed hard and bit down on his tongue to stop himself from cursing the Dark Lord and refusing the mission. _ Think of Mother, _ he told himself. _ If you refuse, her life will be forfeit. _

He bowed low again, his eyes firmly on the floor. “As you wish, my Lord.”

“Good boy,” the Dark Lord hummed.

“My Lord?” Draco spoke, hesitantly. “How will we recognise them? I understand Australia is a large country with many people.”

“Ahh, yes, of course!” he responded, jovially. “I will provide you with my memory of the discovery.”

“When shall we depart, my Lord?” Bellatrix chimed in, eagerly.

“Immediately,” the man ordered. “Gather what supplies you need, take my memory, and depart at once.”

Draco nodded and turned on his heel, striding purposefully out of the room and towards his own chambers. Once there, his breath hitched. His stomach clenched, and he rushed for the loo. He vomited until his sides ached and his throat was raw, then simply sat with his head hanging in the bowl, shaking. He couldn’t bear it. He wished he could just run away, but with the Mark on his arm, it was impossible to hide. Wherever he went, the Dark Lord would find him.

With a heavy heart, Draco slowly pulled himself to his feet. He flushed the toilet, splashed cold water on his face and rinsed his mouth to rid himself of the sour aftertaste. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he was shocked at how haggard he looked. He had thought he looked terrible in sixth year, but compared to how he looked now, he had been the picture of health back then.

His face was thin, thinner than it had ever been, and ghostly pale. Deep black circles were prominent beneath his grey eyes, which were dull and expressionless. His hair was brittle and dirty, hanging loosely over his forehead. _ I look like I’m already dead, _ he thought morosely to himself.

He turned suddenly as he heard rapid footsteps approaching his room. “Draco!” his aunt shrieked. “Hurry up! A portkey is being arranged as we speak and we leave within the hour!”

Draco quickly walked across the bathroom floor and back into his bedroom as Bellatrix entered. She stopped and looked at his face, appraising him carefully, then grinned. 

“Don’t be weak like your father, nephew,” she said scathingly. “You have been given an opportunity to redeem your family name. Accept it gratefully and do not fail our Lord.”

“Yes, Aunt Bella,” Draco replied quietly. He summoned a small bag and quickly packed the few items he would need while she watched. When he had everything, she jerked her head impatiently and turned, walking quickly from the room. Draco had no choice but to follow.  


* * *

They arrived in Australia several hours later, thanks to the unregistered portkey Dolores Umbridge had arranged for them. She was only too happy to assist the Dark Lord with his request and had not asked questions.

For the next month, they hunted for Granger’s parents. Bellatrix, Dolohov and McNair could not resist causing mayhem and destruction wherever they went and treated the mission as a neverending revel in which Draco was forced to participate. Every night, his sleep was disturbed by the screams of the Muggles they tortured, and the violent deaths of the witches and wizards who were unwise enough to cross the small hunting party as they searched.

Draco was the one assigned to give the Dark Lord regular updates on their progress, or lack thereof. Every report he gave caused the Dark Lord to become more displeased, until Draco began to fear every communication. 

“It is taking far too long! Stop dawdling and get on with it. If I have to come over there myself, you will wish for death!” his Master had snarled at him after Draco’s last update several days previously.

Finally, though, after innumerable false leads and dead ends, they could smell success at last. They were in Western Australia and Dolohov had, quite by chance, overheard one Muggle talking to another about a recent visit to a dental clinic as the two sat on a park bench. The conversation, as mundane as it had appeared, had caught the Death Eater’s attention immediately.

“Yeah, mate, I’m tellin’ ya. I used to bloody hate the dentist, but that Wilkins guy is a wonder. Fixed my tooth up a dream. Barely felt him putting in the anesthetic, and it didn’t break the bank.”

“Wilkins, eh?” the other Muggle replied with interest.

“Yeah, that’s the one. His wife is a dentist as well. Nice-looking woman, too.”

“Cheers, mate. I’ll keep them in mind.”

Dolohov had immediately rushed back to where Malfoy and the others were hiding in an abandoned building in Donnybrook. They had put up Muggle-repelling charms to ensure they weren’t discovered.

“Malfoy!” Dolohov panted. “The Mudblood’s parents — aren’t they healers of some sort? Something to do with teeth?”

Draco frowned, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

“Yes,” he replied carefully. “They’re dentists.”

“Dentist! That’s the word!” Dolohov barked triumphantly. “I overheard a Muggle talking about them! He said _ Wilkins _, I’m sure of it! Quick, there’s not a moment to lose!”

The others grabbed Dolohov so he could Apparate them side-along, and in moments they were in a secluded area not far from where Dolohov had last seen the Muggle. The wizard soon spotted his target again, and they watched him carefully, following at a safe distance as he began to wander away from the park. As soon as he was a short distance away from other Muggles, Bellatrix pointed her wand at him. “_ Imperio,” _ she whispered.

The hapless Muggle under her command slowly walked towards their hiding place within a small cluster of trees surrounded by rose bushes. Once he was perfectly concealed, Bellatrix used Legilimency to rifle through his mind, searching for his memories of the visit to the _ dentist. _

Soon she withdrew, and danced on the spot with excitement. “It _ is _ them!” she squealed. “The Mudblood’s parents, and I’ve seen exactly where they work!” 

Without a second thought, she waved her wand and _ Avada’ed _ the Muggle. “Hold on to me! We’ll go immediately!” she ordered. Draco, Dolohov and McNair did as they were told and were whisked away, leaving their latest victim where he had fallen. 

Moments later, they landed outside a small brick building with planter boxes out the front. It looked tidy and welcoming. Draco looked around in alarm. It was late in the day, but they had Apparated right in view of the street where anyone could observe them. They were sure to be noticed, and indeed several Muggles were looking in their direction, wearing various expressions of fear, confusion and suspicion. 

“Inside, quickly!” Draco hissed at the others. “Before we attract any more attention!”

The small group strode up the small steps leading to the entrance, Bellatrix at the head. She took a firm hold of the door and pulled it open, stepping over the threshold with the others close behind.

“I’m sorry, we’re just about to cl—”

The words of the Muggle sitting behind a desk were abruptly cut short as McNair turned his wand on her. She slumped forward over the blotter, eyes open and lifeless.

Moving further into the building, they stepped through another door and found themselves in a small hallway, with more doors to the right and left. Bellatrix signalled the men to spread out, and turned toward the nearest door which was on her right.

Draco moved slowly forward, his feet feeling like stone, toward a door further down in the same direction his aunt had taken. He opened a door, wand aloft, and froze. The woman looked up, startled, and regarded him with large eyes the colour of chocolate. Her hair was curly and brown, but not wild. He could do nothing more than stare at her in horror. _ She was the splitting image—! _

“Can I… help you, young man?” Granger's mother asked Draco cautiously. 

A mad thought came upon him - to hell with the Dark Lord, to hell with the risk, he was going to tell this woman to _ run, _ to go _ now— _

“What are you doing? Get away from—!” A man’s voice bellowed from another part of the building, followed by a crash, and both their heads snapped towards the sound.

“Wendell!” Granger’s mother gasped, and she moved towards the door. Quickly, Draco aimed his wand at her again. _ “Stupefy!” _ She fell bonelessly to the floor, and Draco’s shoulders slumped. 

Moments later, he was shouldered aside by McNair. “We’ve got the father, Malfoy! Have you—” he stopped to take in the sight of the woman lying crumpled at Draco’s feet, and grinned nastily. “Well done, young Malfoy!” he congratulated, slapping Draco on the shoulder. Draco winced at the contact, but nodded in acknowledgement.

“Grab her and let’s go,” he instructed, before turning on the spot and apparating away. Draco let out a shuddering breath and tried not to look at the woman, at her brown, curly hair, at her delicate features, but he couldn’t help himself. She had an upturned nose and a dusting of freckles across her cheeks, just like…. He shook his head. Now was not the time to get distracted. 

Grabbing hold of her arm, he Apparated back to the building they had been hiding in, hating himself all the while.

When he arrived, the others were already there. Bellatrix already had the two-way mirror they had been using to communicate with the Dark Lord in her hand and was giving him a rapid and breathless update.

“We found them, My Lord! We have them both!” She turned to see Draco, who was lowering the woman to the floor. “No, no, nephew! Don’t put her _ down! _ Bring her over here, so our Master can see! Hurry up!” She gestured impatiently to him.

Draco sighed to himself and picked her up again, dragging her prostrate body across the floor and holding her up by the arms, tilting her head back so the Dark Lord would be able to see her face as Bellatrix held up the mirror.

“Well done, all of you,” the Dark Lord spoke from the mirror. “I am pleased, and you will be rewarded. Return immediately with the Mudblood’s parents. You have been gone too long already.”

“Yes, Master! We will return right away!” Bellatrix simpered, but the Dark Lord was already gone.

Quickly, the hunting party gathered up their few belongings and removed all traces of their presence. The Grangers were grabbed roughly by Dolohov and McNair while Bellatrix carefully took out the portkey — a locket not unlike the one Potter had destroyed — and unwrapped it. They each touched a finger to it, and Draco felt the familiar unsettling pull behind his bellybutton as they were whisked back to Malfoy Manor.

Upon their arrival in the drawing room, a round of polite applause went up around them. Draco looked up, nauseous from such a long portkey ride, to see the Dark Lord smiling down at them.

“Wonderful! Bring them here!” he called enthusiastically.

The Grangers, barely conscious, were dragged forward and dropped at the Dark Lord’s feet. He picked up his wand and pointed it at the slumped bodies. _ “Renerverrate.” _

They stirred and began to sit up, holding their heads. Granger’s father grabbed for his wife, trying to help her up, as they drew together for comfort. They stared at their surroundings, confused and afraid. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger— Oh, my apologies! _ Wilkins!” _ the Dark Lord smiled, his small eyes dancing. “We are so pleased to have you here as our _ honoured _ guests!”

He lifted his head to scan the crowd. “Ahh, Greyback! There you are! Come now, bring the Mudblood so she can have her family reunion.”

Draco’s chest tightened as he heard Granger screaming and cursing. He watched Greyback with wide eyes as the werewolf dragged her forward and held her in place before them.

“Mr. and Mrs… Wilkins, please meet your daughter… a witch, though undeserving of the title.” Turning to Granger and gesturing to Draco, the Dark Lord added, “Miss Granger, be sure and thank Mr. Malfoy for finding your parents for us.”

  
Granger whipped her head around to look at him, and the depth of hate in her expression as her eyes met his caused Draco to recoil as if her very stare might strike him dead. 


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione stared in horror at her parents as they stared back with equally panicked and bewildered expressions. Greyback had said there was a surprise waiting for her, and now her worst fears were realised. She had begun to hope that Voldemort's Death Eaters would not find them, and cursed herself for her foolishness while almost choking on her hate for Voldemort, his supporters, and Draco fucking Malfoy.

“Who are you and why are we here?” her father finally spoke up, attempting to sound authoritative.

Voldemort chuckled and stood. “My name,” he replied, bowing low, “Is Lord Voldemort. The most powerful Dark Wizard in England.”

He gestured around the room. “The people you see around you are my loyal supporters. Together, we are going to usher in a new world.”

Richard scoffed. “A dark wizard? Are you mad? Wizards don’t exist.”

The room erupted in raucous laughter. “Foolish Muggle! Wizards _ do _ exist. Witches, too. Did I not just say this girl—” Voldemort pointed at Hermione, who was still restrained in Greyback’s vice-like grip “—was your daughter, and a witch?”

“You’re definitely barking. We’ve never been able to have children,” Richard snapped. “I think we’d remember if we had a daughter, especially if she was a witch as well.”

The renewed laughter caused Hermione’s parents to frown, quite unable to understand why Richard’s simple declaration had the Death Eaters howling with mirth and barely able to stand. But Hermione knew why they were laughing. Part of her even appreciated the perfect irony of her father’s answer. But, at the same time, the guilt that had been her constant companion from the moment she had Obliviated them flared up inside her, making her want to vomit with fear and shame.

“Listen to him!” Bellatrix screeched, wiping her streaming eyes. “Oh, this is too perfect!”

Scuttling forward and throwing herself down in front of the Grangers, the dark witch leaned in close. “You don’t remember... Because the Mudblood wiped your memories and sent you to Australia, thinking she could hide you from us!” she cackled.

“I don’t understand!” Hermione’s mother burst out. “None of you are making any sense! All this talk of wizards and witches, of... Muggles and… Mudbloods? Someone explain to us what is going on!”

Hermione turned to face Voldemort. “Please… please let them go!” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted them to be safe! They’re good people, they don’t deserve to be caught up in all this!”

Voldemort grinned ferally at Hermione. “There is only one way to protect them, Miss Granger, and I think you know what it is.”

Hermione sobbed harder, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe in the depth of her grief. Greyback let go of her abruptly and she slid to the floor. With her face in the plush carpet, she wailed. _ I have to, _ she thought. _ Merlin help me, but I have no choice. I’m sorry, all of you. I’m so sorry. _

Sitting up, Hermione wiped her streaming eyes and nose on her grubby sleeve before raising her large brown eyes to meet Voldemort’s small dark ones. “Very well,” she agreed, her voice filled with resolve. “I will do as you ask. I will help you destroy the Order, so long as my parents are not harmed.”

The gasp of shock and realisation from behind her made Hermione cringe, but she steeled herself to ignore it, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin bravely in the face of the evil creature before her. Voldemort’s look of triumph caused a quiet rage to flow through her, making her limbs tingle. 

“Bring the contract!” he commanded, and one of his Death Eaters hurried forward with a piece of parchment in his hand, placing it in his master’s grip along with a quill and ink.

“Come here, Miss Granger,” Voldemort ordered, and Hermione stood on shaky legs to comply. He offered the piece of parchment to her and she took it, scanning it quickly. 

_ I, Hermione Jean Granger, do pledge my loyalty to Lord Voldemort. I will follow each of his orders, and not defy or betray him. I acknowledge that should I fail in my duties, the lives of my parents will be forfeit.” _

“Sell your soul. Sign here.” Voldemort urged, tapping the bottom of the parchment.

With a heavy heart, Hermione picked up the offered quill, dipped it in the ink, and quickly signed her name before she had time to think about it.

“Now, don’t try anything sneaky, Miss Granger,” Voldemort cautioned as he briskly rolled up the parchment and stowed it in his robes. “There are multiple curses on this parchment. Should you attempt to warn the Order or otherwise compromise or defy me in any way, your parents will die… slowly and painfully.”

Once again, Hermione coldly appreciated the irony of this situation. She had taken a similar approach in fifth year with the sign-up sheet for Dumbledore’s Army, and Marietta Edgecombe had learned the hard way that betraying a secret could be hazardous to one’s health. 

“Take them away,” Voldemort ordered with a flick of his fingers. “Lock them up in the cellar.”

Two Death Eaters stepped forward to comply, and Hermione was forced to watch, powerless, as her weakly protesting parents were whisked out of sight.

“Now, Miss Granger,” he continued, turning to her without preamble. “For your first task, you will bring me Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall. Listen carefully to my instructions.”

Hermione listened, the tears falling silently down her face.

  
Hours later, she waited nervously in the place Voldemort had ordered her to go. She had sent her Patronus to both McGonagall and Shacklebolt mere minutes previously, and she expected they would arrive immediately.

Sure enough, moments later there were two pops of Apparition behind her, and the two Order members rushed forward to greet her, relief etched on their faces. As Voldemort had predicted, they were so overcome at hearing from her, and trusted her so explicitly, that they dropped their guard immediately.

“Miss Granger! Thank goodness you are all right!” McGonagall sighed, touching Hermione on the shoulder in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. She looked around. “Where are Mister Weasley and Mister Potter?”

Hermione said nothing, merely looking at her feet. She did not trust herself to speak.

“Miss Granger?” Kingsley echoed, frowning with concern. “Are they safe?”

Faintly, Hermione heard the sounds around them. Finally, she lifted her haunted eyes to meet those of Voldemort’s targets. 

“I’m sorry… please forgive me,” she whispered.

Moments later, the area around her exploded with wand fire and Hermione threw herself to the ground, lest she be caught in the crossfire. She covered her head with her hands and sobbed into the dirt as shouts and screams echoed all around her. Finally, there was silence, and Hermione carefully lifted her head to look around.

McGonagall was lying only a few feet away, eyes open and lifeless. She appeared to have taken no visible spell damage. Kingsley, on the other hand, had taken a great deal. He lay beyond McGonagall in a pool of blood, his head almost severed from his neck. 

Hermione fought the urge to retch, and instead crawled over to McGonagall, her chest heaving with frenzied gasps. “I’m sorry!” she wailed, laying her head on her mentor’s unmoving torso. She did not know how long she was in that position, holding her former Transfiguration teacher as she grew cold, but suddenly Voldemort was behind her.

“Well done, Miss Granger,” he praised, his voice dripping with pleasure. The sound made her shudder with revulsion. “You have helped me eliminate two of my most formidable foes. Now we will return to the Manor and plan your next task.”   


* * *

Over the next week, Hermione was forced to gradually betray the remaining members of the Order.

First, Voldemort set up the same decoy tactic with Tonks and Lupin. Next, he had Hermione lead a contingent of Death Eaters to Shell Cottage in the dead of night. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was blown up while the twins slept above their shop.

Finally, Voldemort went after the remaining Weasleys. Overcome by grief at the deaths of the twins and Bill and Fleur, and not knowing Ron’s whereabouts, they were totally unprepared for the attack. The five Weasleys fought bravely but were outnumbered, and each of them gradually fell.

Back at Malfoy Manor, Voldemort and his Death Eaters celebrated their victory. Hermione was forced to sit in the room with them as they drank and made merry. The one positive thing — if you could call it that — which had come of her forced duplicity was that Voldemort had ordered Greyback not to leave any visible marks or injuries on her, lest it arouse suspicion on the part of his targets. It had been a small mercy, but still, it had not stopped him from raping her repeatedly.

She sat, despondent, looking at her feet as Voldemort and his supporters got rowdier and drunker. A drink was pushed into her hand and she slapped it away, refusing to have any part in the celebration of the death of her friends. Voldemort stood, swaying slightly, and pointed at her. “Miss Granger! You will drink, or I will have your parents brought before us and _ Crucio’ed _!”

“Ohhhh! Let me do it, my Lord!” Bellatrix begged, drunkenly tugging on his robes.

“Stop!” Hermione interrupted, holding out her hand. “I’ll drink.”

Whoops and cheers erupted around the room as Hermione took the offered glass and downed the amber liquid within. She shuddered as it made its way down to her stomach. _ Firewhiskey. I never could stand the stuff. _

“Another!” one of the Death Eaters roared, and her glass was refilled. Dutifully, Hermone drank again, although this time she sipped at it instead of taking it all at once. Soon enough, the Death Eaters lost interest in her and went back to their celebrations.

Swirling the drink in her glass, Hermione allowed her eyes to roam the room. A jolt ran through her as her eyes locked with a silvery grey pair, and she narrowed hers, sending a hateful stare his way. Malfoy looked uncomfortable and… _ is it guilt? Remorse _? She wondered. But nevertheless he held her gaze instead of looking away, until she broke eye contact first, unable to bear his strange expression any longer.

As the night went on, she continued to send glances his way, and each time was further unnerved by his unwavering watchfulness of her. Gradually, the Death Eaters around her staggered away in their drunken stupors or passed out where they sat, even Voldemort, until she and Malfoy — he was the only other person in the room who had not been drinking heavily — were the only ones left conscious. 

Suddenly, screams drifted up from the cellar and Hermione jumped up, her heart hammering in her chest. She surveyed the drunken lumps around her. _ Where’s Greyback? He was here not long ago! I didn't see him leave! _ She thought frantically.

Her frenzied searching led her once again to Malfoy, who was also standing, his face pale and set.

“Please.. My parents,” she pleaded, appealing to him. _ He’ll laugh in your face and stop you from going to them, _ her mind whispered. _ Why would he help you? _

Instead, he glanced around the drawing room before striding forward, wearing a determined expression. “Come on,” he said quietly, drawing his wand.

Hermione followed him quickly down to the cellar, where they were met with the sight of the cell door standing open. At first, she couldn’t see what was going on, but Malfoy raised his wand, shouting “_ Stupefy!” _

She pushed past him, fearing the worst, and screamed. 

Greyback was lying on the floor of the cell, covered in blood. _ Their blood. _Beyond him lay their prone forms, barely moving.

“Mum… Dad?” she whispered fearfully, moving slowly towards them. Her father moved first, trying to reach for his wife even as the pain overcame him. Her mother turned her head, but was unable to move any further. Blood pooled under both their bodies.

Greybak had attacked them, clearly meaning to disfigure them rather than kill them outright. Richard’s neck and chest showed large, ugly claw marks, and Jean’s arms were covered in deep bites. Hermione rushed over to where they lay and dropped to her knees beside them. Turning to Malfoy, she cried, “Help them! Please!”

“I… I don’t know…” Malfoy stammered, staring in horror at their mangled bodies.

“Do it!” Hermione screamed at him. “It’s your fault they’re here in the first place!”

Malfoy looked indecisive and scared, looking from the door to Hermione and her injured parents. “What do I…?” 

“Dittany! Blood-replenishing and pain potions! Malfoy, you should _ know _ this!” Hermione yelled, reaching for her father and trying vainly to slow the bleeding while he screamed in pain.

“R—right,” Draco nodded. Now knowing what to do, Malfoy quickly summoned the potions Hermione needed. Within moments they were zipping into his hands and he rushed over to her, his prior faltering gone, and helped her as best he could to treat her parents’ wounds as they writhed on the floor.

“The potions!” she ordered.

“Can Muggles take them?” Malfoy asked, holding out a blood-replenishing potion.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied as she unstopped the bottle and lifted her father’s head, pouring the liquid into his mouth. “But it’s better than the alternative.” Next, she turned to her mother, performing the same action before giving each of them giving them a dose of the pain potion Malfoy handed her.

Sitting back to watch, Hermione silently waited to see how her parents’ bodies would react to the magical treatments she had given them. After several tense moments, Richard shuddered and opened his eyes. 

“Monica..?” He croaked.

Jean - known to herself and her husband as Monica - stirred too, and rolled her head to look at her husband. “I’m here, darling,” she whispered. The Grangers reached for each other in the dim light, clasping hands and squeezing tightly. Malfoy conjured blankets and pillows in an attempt to make them more comfortable, and the Grangers glanced at the teens before them uneasily.

“I’m sorry… so, so sorry this has happened to you,” Hermione sobbed, causing them to turn their heads in her direction. She desperately wanted to reach out to them, but was afraid of how they would react to her.

“Miss… who—what—is that? That attacked us?” Richard asked, his voice weak.

“Greyback.” Her lip curled as she snarled his name. “A vile, violent animal. He’s— a werewolf.”

Richard and Jean looked at her in disbelief.

“I know it sounds crazy, but he is,” Hermione rushed on. “He works for V— that maniac you met when you first arrived. They’re all violent, murderous and evil. They believe in blood purity, of ridding the world of people who are not born into magical families… people like me.” She looked down at her hands.

“He said… he said you were our daughter,” Jean spoke softly, looking at Hermione in confusion. “But how can that be? We have never been able to have children… and yet, you look so like me when I was younger.”

“Is what that creature said true?” Richard added. “Are you our daughter? And does magic really exist?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, and yes. I suppose I better start from the beginning.” Sitting back on her heels and sighing, she began to describe her family’s introduction to the world of magic when she was eleven, and her years at Hogwarts as she adapted to being a member of the Wizarding community, while her parents listened avidly. Expressions of shock, awe, confusion and anger in turn flitted across their faces as she recalled her forays into the world of magic, and the highs, lows and dangers it had brought with it.

“...I was so afraid you would be targeted once the war really started to ramp up and we learned we needed to help Dumbledore complete his mission that I…” Hermione twisted her fingers in her lap, her face burning with guilt and shame. “...I Obliviated you both — that is to say, I used a spell to remove all your memories of me. It was as if I never existed, because in your minds, I didn’t. Then I planted the suggestion that you both wanted to emigrate to Australia immediately. I thought it would keep you safe.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at them, terrified at what she might find there.

Richard was the first to speak. “So you’re telling me that our real names are Richard and Jean Granger, we were kidnapped and somehow transported across the world, have been kept prisoner in this filthy room by wizards, and have been attacked by a… a _ werewolf, _ if such a thing can be believed… because of _ you?” _

“Yes,” Hermione whispered, cringing away from the venom in Richard’s voice.

“How could you do such a thing?” Jean asked, incredulously.

“I did what I thought was right at the time,” Hermione whimpered, bringing her arms up to hug herself. “I truly thought I could keep anyone from finding you.”

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job,” Richard snorted.

“I know,” Hermione wailed.

“And what will happen to us now?” Jean added. “Will we become werewolves, also?” She sounded disbelieving, but also afraid. “I don’t know _ what _to think or know any more!”

Hermione shook her head vigorously. “No, you won’t contract Lycanthropy. That only happens if the werewolf is in wolf form during the full moon. But you will both develop wolf-like characteristics. And you’ll have scarring.”

“That’s if you survive at all,” Malfoy spoke up from behind her. Hermione whipped her head around to glare at him. “_ Malfoy!” _She hissed. “Nobody asked your opinion!”

“But it’s true, Granger, and you know it,” Malfoy replied, looking at her sadly. “Many people don’t survive a werewolf attack, especially Muggles. Even when the werewolf is in human form."

“So you’re saying we’re going to die?” Richard asked in shock.

“It’s likely,” Malfoy agreed.

“Even if we do survive, how are we supposed to go about like this?” Richard asked, gesturing weakly to himself and Jean. “You said we’ll have scarring. It’s not like we can just go to a plastic surgeon and ask if they have much experience in dealing with werewolf damage.”

“No, I suppose you can’t,” Hermione whispered in defeat.

“Perhaps you should just let death happen,” Richard replied. “I figure we haven’t got much of a life left either way.”

“But Wendell-- Richard…” Jean implored.

“No,” he interrupted. “Look at you, honey. You’re still bleeding. You’ve lost far too much blood already and I don’t suppose we’ll be taken to a hospital.” It was true — despite the blood-replenishing potion Hermione had given her parents, both were still losing blood, her mother especially.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said again, helplessly. “I didn’t want any of this to happen.”

She turned to Malfoy. “Give me your wand.”

He looked like he wanted to refuse, but after a moment he handed it to her silently.

“Please, I beg you — can you forgive me?” she them asked quietly.

“I forgive you,” Jean whispered. Hermione smiled sadly and turned to Richard.

“You’ve taken everything from us and exposed us to this madhouse. You’ve sentenced us to exile or death.” Richard said, coldly. “No. No, I won’t forgive you.”

Fresh tears cascaded down Hermione’s face as she sobbed. “I love you both so much. Please know that.”

She lifted Draco’s wand, ponting first at her mother and then her father.

_ “Avada Kedavra.” _


	5. Chapter 5

Draco watched helplessly as Hermione put her parents out of their misery. His heart ached for her and he just wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be okay, even though he knew it wouldn’t. Her hand opened and his wand clattered to the ground, the only other sound in the room being Hermione’s broken sobs.

“I’m sorry, Granger,” Draco whispered. “For everything.”

He expected she would turn on him, even welcomed it if the release of her anger would somehow ease her pain, but she just ignored him. Instead, Hermione reached out for her parents’ hands, bringing each one to her cheeks as she rocked back and forth between their bodies.

Suddenly a small groan penetrated the space, followed by a rustle as Greyback began to stir. Before Draco could react, Hermione had released her parents' hands, snatched up his wand from where she had dropped it, and was on her feet with it pointed at the werewolf.

_ Merlin’s balls, _ Draco cursed himself. _ I should have taken it back the moment she dropped it! _

“Granger!” he said softly. “Don’t do anything stupid. Give me back the wand.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy, before I turn you back into a ferret,” she bit back in reply, and Draco dared not try and take it from her by force. His wandless magic wasn’t strong enough for that. Instead, he watched her watching Greyback.

The werewolf sat up with a grunt and a wince, looking around him. Noticing Hermione standing before him with Draco’s wand pointed straight at his chest, he chuckled lowly and grinned. “Want to play do you, girly?” he leered. “I’m feeling a bit tender, but don’t think that means I’ll let you win.” 

Greyback reached for his wand, but Hermione’s _ Expelliarmus _snatched it from his grasp before he had a chance to even aim it at her. He blinked in surprise from his position on the floor as it sailed through the air and landed neatly in her waiting hand.

Draco slowly moved around so he could see Hermione properly, hoping to convince her to at least give him back his wand now that she had Greyback’s. Her lip curled in disgust as she twirled his wand between her fingers. 

“Even your wand revolts me,” she taunted, “It’s filthy and animalistic, a rabid beast that needs to be put down. Just like you.”

Greyback lifted his lip in a silent snarl. “You better be giving that back, girly, or I’ll hurt you so bad you’ll scream for death. I don’t care what the Dark Lord says about not disfiguring you. Full moon is in another day. I’ll lock you in my room and turn you.” He paused, considering. “Or maybe I’ll just tear you to pieces.”

Draco’s heart stuttered in fear at his threat. “If you do, I’ll turn you over to the Dark Lord myself, and he’ll do things to you that will make even _ you _ scream, werewolf,” he threatened, stepping forward.

Greyback threw back his head and laughed.”_ You, _boy? Bullshit. You practically piss your pants every time I walk in the room. You won’t be turning me over to anyone.”

“Shut up!” Hermione screamed, tightening her grip on Draco’s wand. She looked over her shoulder at him for only a second. “Malfoy, I told you to fuck off. Greyback is _ mine _ to deal with!”

“But the Dark Lord—” he tried to protest.

“_ Fuck _ your _ Dark Lord, _” she spat, never taking her eyes from Greyback as she spoke. “He won’t give a shit anyway. He hates half-breeds almost as much as he hates my kind. In fact—” Hermione smiled coldly at the werewolf. “He will probably reward me for killing you, Greyback. Sooner or later, he would have betrayed you. If I kill you instead, it will save him the trouble.”

Greyback growled furiously and made to lunge toward her, fast despite his size and having been recently stunned, but Hermione was faster. _ “Immobilus!” _The werewolf was stopped in his tracks, the snarl still on his face.

“Granger.” Draco said desperately. “At least let me have my wand back. You’ve got his now.”

She looked down at Draco’s wand in one hand, then Greyback’s in the other, before shrugging and tossing his wand back to him. Draco caught it and sighed with relief to feel its familiar magic in his hand again.

The wand changing hands caused the immobilising spell to be undone, and Greyback continued his forward momentum as if it had never been interrupted. He made it only two more paces, however, before she had him back in the same position, this time turning the werewolf’s own wand against him.

_ I’d hate to duel her, _ Draco thought to himself. _ She’d kick my arse. _Aloud, he said, “What are you going to do with him?”

Hermione looked at the werewolf as she reflected on her options. “I could use him to take out as many of the Death Eaters as possible,” she said thoughtfully. “If I could take them by surprise... They’re all drunk and unable to defend themselves or counterattack effectively.”

“Are you talking about… _ Imperiusing _ him?” Draco asked in shock.

“I hardly think he will agree to up and attack them of his own free will just because I ask nicely,” she answered snippily.

“But… the Dark Lord will kill you if you attack his followers,” Draco argued feebly. 

“Good,” Hermione retorted. “It’s not like I’ve got much to live for.”

Draco’s stomach dropped at the idea of her dying at the Dark Lord’s hand. “Please don’t, Granger,” he begged.

“And why not?” Hermione asked, turning to him. Her eyes were empty, cold, uncaring. Draco knew she was standing on a precipice, one he had to try and pull her back from.

“Because—” Draco desperately tried to think of a reason - any reason! - that might stay her hand while she looked at him impatiently.

“Because you’re brilliant, and you’re one of the only ones left who could possibly take him down,” Draco blurted.

Hermione laughed sardonically, shaking her head. “I can’t take him down. No one can. Not until all his Horcruxes are destroyed.”

“Hor...cruxes?” Draco asked, frowning in confusion.

Hermione sighed, looking from Greyback to Draco, and sat down on the cold floor of the cellar. Draco quickly followed suit, hoping he could keep her talking until he thought of a plan.

“Back before Harry was even born, he—” she nodded towards the stairs, indicating Voldemort, “—took measures to ensure he couldn’t be killed. An insurance policy, if you will.”

Draco frowned but nodded at her to continue.

“He discovered that there was a way to store a piece of one’s soul inside another object, therefore ensuring that a little piece of the caster’s self would continue to exist even if their body was destroyed,” Hermione explained. “In this way, it would be possible for them to be resurrected.”

“So V— the Dark Lord really _ did _ come back from the dead?” Draco asked in shock.

Hermione nodded. “Basically, yes. But part of the spell needed to complete the process involved taking the blood of his greatest enemy, which was why Harry was targeted at the Triwizard Tournament.”

“What did the Dark Lord mean when he told Potter there would be no ghosts to save him?” Draco responded, remembering his master’s words before the fatal duel had taken place.

“Their wands were brothers. When Harry was forced to duel him, it triggered—”

_ “Priori incantatem,” _Draco whispered.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “Harry’s wand forced Voldemort’s to regurgitate its previous spells - all the people he’d killed the last times he’d used it. The spirits of his victims attacked him, allowing Harry escape the graveyard with Cedric’s body.”

Draco nodded in understanding, feeling a new respect for Potter. To think that his magical strength and willpower, at only fourteen years old, had been enough to force the Dark Lord’s wand to submit to his own was astounding. He said as much to Hermione, and she gave him a small, sad smile.

“Harry was very strong. But he would let himself be led by his emotions and act without thinking. In the end, it got him killed.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Him and Ron both. They should have left Dobby and me, and escaped while they had the chance.”

“Potter and Weasley never would have left you behind, and you know it, Granger,” Draco said. 

“You’re right,” she replied. “We were a team.”

Draco felt hopeful. She was responding. Maybe he would be able to do something, after all.

“Why did you become a Death Eater?” she asked him abruptly, startling him.

Thinking for a moment, Draco fiddled with his wand, unsure how to answer.

“It wasn’t by choice,” he finally answered.

“What do you mean? Hermione prodded. “I thought you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps.” she looked at him in distaste, and he felt a stab of shame at her expression.

“I never wanted this,” he continued, gesturing at his left arm in disgust. “Yes, I wanted to be like Father, to please him and live up to the Malfoy name… but I never dreamed that would involve being forced to take the Mark.”

“Why were you forced?” she asked softly, her soft brown eyes on him.

“Because Father fucked up in the Department of Mysteries,” Draco responded. “Because of that night when he and the other Death Eaters were sent to retrieve the prophecy and ended up in Azkaban. The Dark Lord insisted I join his ranks to punish Father for his failures.”

Hermione’s face darkened. “So you were made to take the Mark against your own free will? But didn’t your parents try and stop it from happening?”

Draco shook his head. “They tried… well, Mother tried. Father was still in prison. Mother pleaded with the Dark Lord to reconsider, to find some other way to seek recompense, but he refused. He had them torture her as punishment for attempting to defy his will. He told me if I tried to resist, or if I screwed up like Father had, that he would kill her.”

“He seems to enjoy using loved ones as blackmail,” Hermione observed, matter-of-factly. “But then again, most of his supporters chose to join, did they not? Like Snape.” She said his name bitterly, as if it left a nasty taste in her mouth.

“Snape… there’s more to him than you know,” Draco answered. He was thinking of the secret his godfather had entrusted him with, the reason why he had done the things he had.

Hermione snorted in disbelief. “What, like he actually washes his hair more than once a year? Does he braid it at night, tie it up in pretty ribbons?” she asked snidely.

“No!” Draco replied, offended on Severus’ behalf. “He’s a good man.”

“He killed Dumbledore!” Hermione burst out, angrily.

“Only after I failed!” Draco shouted back, desperately. “He promised my mother! He took the Unbreakable Vow!”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, watching him carefully.

Draco took a deep breath. “When the Dark Lord first started talking about giving me the Mark, she went to Severus, begging him to intervene on my behalf. He refused, because he knew it was both pointless and dangerous to try and dissuade him once he had given an order. Instead, Mother asked him to take an Unbreakable Vow to try and keep me safe, and to take over the task I had been given in the event that I failed.”

“Harry said he heard you in the Astronomy tower that night,” Hermione remembered. “Why did Voldemort order you to kill Dumbledore?”

Sighing heavily, Draco looked at his hands. “I think he knew the whole time I wouldn’t be able to do it,” he confessed. “I think he hoped I would be killed, or at least sent to Azkaban, for the attempt. Most likely, he just wanted to punish my parents further and was willing to use me to break their hearts. I can’t think of any other reason.”

Silence fell between them as Hermione processed the information, staring into space with a thoughtful expression. Draco watched her carefully, wishing he knew what she was thinking. 

Finally, she turned to look at him again. “Snape is a Death Eater and has been since before the first Wizarding War, and was spying for Voldemort this whole time while pretending to be reformed. How can you possibly say he’s a good man, considering the level of betrayal he’s capable of? I don’t see how his taking an Unbreakable Vow to protect you can possibly redeem him of all the terrible things he’s done.”

“I told you, there’s more to him than you know,” Draco insisted. He wished he hadn’t said anything, so they wouldn’t be having this awkward conversation now.

“So tell me what you know about him that I don’t!” Hermione insisted.

Draco glanced over at Greyback, still frozen in place by Hermione’s spell. The werewolf showed no signs of being able to break free. “Can he hear us?” he asked nervously.

Hermione shrugged. “Does it really matter? It’s not like he’ll live long enough to go running to Voldemort with whatever you tell me.”

“Why not just kill him now? He’s a waste of air. Just get rid of him and be done with it,” he suggested hopefully. Maybe if he could goad her into doing it right away…

“Not yet,” Hermione said firmly, her eyes sliding to her captive before shooting back over to Draco. “Tell me what you know about Snape.”

“If I tell you, I’m putting both him and I and risk,” Draco said desperately. “If the Dark Lord finds out…”

“He won’t find out,” Hermione replied. “Now _ tell _me, Malfoy!”

_ Typical Granger. Needs to know bloody everything, _he lamented. 

“Fine, I’ll tell you.” He paused to think about how to proceed. “You know he went to school with Potter’s parents, right?” he checked.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “And Pettigrew, Sirius and Professor Lupin.”

“Potter’s dad and Severus were enemies,” Draco continued. “Potter and his mates used to pick on Severus all the time, play pranks on him, stuff like that. They hated each other.”

“Snape hated Harry because he reminded him of James, and he also hated James,” Hermione remembered.

“Well, sort of. Did you know that in their first years of school, Severus and Potter’s mum were friends?”

Hermione let out a short bark. “I can’t imagine Snape being friends with anyone,” she replied skeptically. “Let alone someone like Lily.”

“Well, they were,” Draco retorted defensively. “The best of friends.”

“So what happened?”

“Potter’s dad came between them. Ultimately, their friendship soured because of it. Severus couldn’t stand to see Lily with him. Not only because of how Potter’s dad treated Severus, but because…”

“Because why?” Hermione prompted when Draco fell silent.

“Because he loved her.”

Hermione stared at Draco in shock. “_ Snape _ loved Lily? As in, he was _ in love _ with her?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. He felt a stab of guilt at having shared his godfather’s deepest, darkest and most closely guarded secret.

“Well, now I’ve heard everything.” Hermione said, throwing her hands in the air in disbelief.

“Severus lost his only friend,” Draco continued. “He had always been an outcast, a loner. His home life was unhappy with his horrible Muggle father and his broken mother. He went looking for a new family, one who would accept him for who he was, and that’s how he ended up joining the Dark Lord’s ranks.”

“I still don’t see how any of that makes him a good man, Malfoy.”

“After Trelawney made the prophecy telling how the Dark Lord would be defeated and he decided to kill Potter and his parents, Severus went to him and begged him to spare her. He didn’t care about Potter’s dad, just her. He said he would do anything if he would just let her live. The Dark Lord agreed, but then—”

“—he killed Lily, anyway,” Hermione finished for him, sadly. “How did Snape react?”

“Outwardly, he did nothing. But when she was killed, it killed a part of him, too. That’s why he ended up helping Dumbledore. He was a double agent. He pretended to be gathering information for the Dark Lord, but really, he was collecting information for Dumbledore.”

"But how did he avoid getting caught? Dumbledore was always telling Harry to practice his Occlumency to protect his mind from Voldemort. He said he was a powerful Legilimens."

"He is. Perhaps the most powerful, " Draco agreed. "But Sev is a powerful Occulmens. It's why Dumbledore wanted him to teach Potter."

"Harry didn't want to learn," Hermione revealed. ""He didn't want to lose his connection to Voldemort, and he most definitely didn't want to be taught anything by Snape."

"Trust me, Snape hated it just as much," Draco snorted. "But he didn't just teach Potter. He taught me, too. He said I had to learn to protect myself, my family, and him."

Hermione shook her head in denial. “That makes no sense…” she trailed off, thinking. “But in a way, it does.”

“He could help you, Granger!” Draco said urgently, seizing on her newfound knowledge. “He could get you out, help you escape, I’m sure of it!”

“He wouldn’t help me,” she scoffed. “He hated me almost as much as he hated Harry.”

Draco smiled ruefully. “It’s true he was never particularly fond of you. I don’t know why. You were brilliant at potions.”

Hermione smiled at the compliment despite the situation. “I was better than you, even,” she teased.

“No you bloody weren’t!” Draco retorted. “I was the best in the class, Severus said so!”

“You were his favourite! Of course he would say that,” Hermione rebutted, rolling her eyes.

“I’m his _ godson _! He’s entitled to prefer me over the others!”

“Favouritism is _ never _acceptable in teaching!”

“Being a swotty know-it-all isn’t acceptable either!” Draco burst out. “And besides, you, Potter and Weasley were Dumbledore’s favourites! You never got into trouble for anything!”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. Her cheeks pinkened, and Draco thought how pretty she looked despite the fact she was unwashed and in soiled and ragged clothing.

“I suppose we did get away with rather a lot,” she admitted with a wistful smile.

“Including Potter damn near killing me in sixth year,” Draco growled, glaring.

“He didn’t mean to!” Hermione snapped, rising immediately to Potter’s defense. “He had no idea what the spell would do! I _ told _ him and _ told _ him to hand that textbook in to a teacher, because—”

“—It was giving him a way to cheat at potions, and it burned your arse that he was doing better than you,” Draco interrupted, and she shot him another of those terrifying glares.

“Hey, it burned my arse, too,” Draco added hurriedly, holding up his hands in surrender. “I wish it had been me that had found that book.”

Hermione snorted. “You’d never have gone _ near _it. A tatty, second-hand textbook? Just being in its vicinity would have caused you offense.”

“Not if I had known what it would do!” 

“Well, that was always your problem, Malfoy,” Hermione sighed. “You never bothered to look past the exterior. If you had been able to ignore outward appearances, who knows what you could have discovered?”

Draco hung his head, shame once again burning inside him. She was right, of course. If only he had looked past things like Houses and blood status sooner, he might have had the opportunity to take a very different path. He might have had the opportunity to have something more with the witch sitting across from him. But here they sat, on opposite sides of the war, and she had nothing but contempt for him… didn’t she?

“Malfoy…”

Draco looked up. Hermione was chewing her bottom lip uncertainly. “The damage Harry did with that spell… did it—?”

“—leave a scar? Yes. A rather spectacular one.”

“Can—may I—?” she stuttered.

“Can you see it?” Draco’s mouth quirked up in a small smirk. “I know witches dig scars, but I didn’t think that would include _ you _, Granger.”

“Fine, don’t show me,” she grouched. “I didn’t really want to see it, anyway.”

“Calm down, Granger, I was teasing,” Draco said, unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled the fabric open to reveal his torso, looking down at the floor, and heard her sharp inhale as she took in the sight.

Potter’s _ Sectumsempra _had left a jagged and deep purple scar that ran from his right hip up to his left shoulder. Though Severus had been able to cast the countercurse in time and the wound had gradually healed, it still pained him often.

“Oh, Malfoy,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” he asked shortly, buttoning his shirt closed again. “_ You _ didn’t cast the curse.”

“But I could have stopped it,” she said, guilt edging her voice as she stared down at her hands. “If I had told a teacher, if I had taken the book from him myself…!” 

“You can’t take responsibility for everyone else’s actions,” Draco insisted. “Granger — look at me!” 

She did, and he felt an electric shock as their eyes met. Instead of looking at him with disdain, or hate, or suspicion, she was looking at him with sadness and sympathy.

“What Potter did — what anyone else does — is not your fault,” he insisted. “You simply can’t save everyone!”

“I could have saved you,” she replied softly. “In sixth year, I knew something was wrong with you. But I didn’t do anything. I was too worried about Harry, and Ron, and Voldemort, and—”

Draco’s heart stuttered. If only she had tried—! But even if she had, he had been too far gone by then.

“You can’t save everyone,” he repeated sadly.

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed.

Hermione stood up and brushed the dust from her clothes with finality. “Thank you, Malfoy,” she said.

“For what?” he asked, staring up at her in concern. Something wasn’t right. The look in her eyes…

“Thank you for being kind. For talking to me.”

She raised her arm until her wand was pointing directly at him.

Draco threw his hands up in a warding-off gesture, panic fluttering in his stomach. “Granger, wait! Don’t do this! I _ love _ you—”

Her eyes widened in surprise momentarily before resolve descended once more.

“I have to protect you. I can still do that much, even if I couldn’t save you.”

“Granger, _ please—!” _

“_ Obliviate.” _

* * *

Draco was roughly slapped awake, and sat up with a start. _ Where was he? _ Looking around, he saw he was in… the cellar? But why? He felt a vague sense of disquiet.

“Get up, Malfoy,” the voice said. He looked up into the face of one of the Dark Lord’s lesser Death Eaters — he didn’t know this one’s name. “The Dark Lord wants an explanation!”

“Ex..planation?” Draco stammered, still looking around him in confusion. 

A glance into a far corner of the room revealed two bodies, roughly discarded. He recognised the clothing. “Are those… Gra— the Mudblood’s parents?”

“Dead. Greyback attacked em, but they died by an _ Avada, _ ” said Nameless. “Now hurry up, the Dark Lord is _ pissed.” _

Draco was pulled to his feet, and stumbled up the stairs after the Death Eater. Snatches of memories were coming back to him now. Granger dashing for the cellar, him following… Greyback… he frowned, trying to remember.

They entered the drawing room and Draco gasped in horror. His stomach churned at the grisly sight before him. There was blood everywhere — on the floor, up the walls, all over the furniture… but not only that, there were body parts scattered about. Arms and legs, mostly. But there was also what appeared to be a _ head _ — he looked closer, and his gorge rose. He turned away quickly and vomited. Yes, that was definitely a head. McNair’s, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Draco!” the Dark Lord snarled. Draco turned to face the man, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Nameless had been right, he did indeed look pissed. Aunt Bella was in her accustomed place beside him, looking equally pissed but also bloodied and battered, as if she had recently been in a fight and very nearly lost. 

“You will tell me what happened!” he ordered.

“I don’t know what happened, my Lord!” Draco whispered, looking around him in shock.

“We’ll soon see!” the Dark Lord replied, pointing his wand. “_ Legilimens!” _

Draco felt the familiar intrusion of the spell as his memories were probed. Recent events flashed before his eyes, as much of a revelation to him as to his master.

Everyone passed out drunk. Screams from the cellar. Granger rushing off, Draco trying to stop her and being pushed back by powerful wandless magic. Draco following her just in time to see her use more wandless magic against Greyback, who had been mauling her parents, and take his wand. Draco trying to stop her once again, but being disarmed and bound instead. Watching Granger summon potions using _ his _ wand and trying to help her parents, but then killing them when it was apparent they couldn’t be saved. Finally, watching her place Greyback under an _ Imperius _ using the werewolf’s wand and send him upstairs with the order that he should kill as many Death Eaters as he could find, as violently as possible, and save the Dark Lord for last.

The Dark Lord finally withdrew, leaving Draco gasping. “My Lord— she— the Mudblood… _ she _ did this?” he asked, disbelieving. 

“It would appear so,” his master replied, looking at Draco with suspicion.

“And… where is she now, my Lord?”

Wordlessly, the Dark Lord gestured behind him. Draco craned his neck to look around his chair and saw a small, crumpled form lying in a heap. It had big, bushy hair and elegant, delicate hands. Had he been able to see her face, he would have seen a small upturned nose, brown eyes and a smattering of freckles. He didn’t understand why, but a small part of him shattered at the sight and he had to battle valiantly to keep his expression neutral.

“I killed her, of course,” he said, sounding vaguely disappointed. “It really is a pity. She could have been so useful. But she has inconvenienced me too greatly, and I could not ignore her actions.”

“She ordered that filthy werewolf to attack _ me!” _Bellatrix screeched, enraged. “How dare she!”

“Well, Draco, it seems she was too much for you,” the Dark Lord chipped in. “But you had been drinking with the rest of us and were no doubt befuddled, so I will not kill you outright. Just a mild punishment, I think.”

He aimed his wand once again.

_ “Crucio.” _

Draco screamed.  


* * *

** _ Two months later _ **

Draco sat up in bed, gasping. He’d had that dream again, and already it was fading.

Quickly, he snatched up the notebook and self-inking quill he had taken to carrying everywhere with him, shrinking it whenever it wasn’t in use so he could hide it more effectively. Enlarging the notebook, he quickly scrawled the final vestiges of the visions that lingered.

_ “No, Granger, don’t— I love you!” _

Draco looked over his notes and frowned. The dreams had started a few weeks after Granger had sent Greyback on his killing spree, signing her own death warrant in the process. It seemed to be the same dream each time, but he could only ever recall small snatches of it when he awoke. It would give him that same odd feeling of disquiet as he had experienced when he had been slapped awake in the cellar.

There was something missing, a puzzle piece lost that he just couldn’t seem to find. He knew there must be more to what his memories of that night told him — deep inside himself, he knew that something was off about the final chain of events. Something to do with what had happened with Granger.

Starting from the first notes he'd made, several days after the first time he had the dream, he read slowly down the list.

“_ Please.. My parents.” _

_ Screaming. Blood. Greyback? _

_ “Fuck your Dark Lord!” _

_ “..I’m so sorry this happened to you.” _

_ “I won’t forgive you!” _

_ Green flash. Avada? _

_ “Want to play, do you girly?” _

_ “Because you’re brilliant..!” _

_ Horkruptures? The D.L has some…? _

_ “It wasn’t by choice.” _

_ “He won’t find out! Now tell me, Malfoy!” _

_ “They were the best of friends.” _

_ “He didn’t mean to…! He had no idea..!” _

_ “I know witches dig scars, but I didn't think that would include you, Granger...” _

_ “I could have saved you.” _

_ “You can’t save everyone.” _

_ “Thank you, Malfoy. For being kind.” _

It all made sense, and yet, it didn’t. None of these things had actually happened. They couldn’t have happened, it just wasn’t possible. Granger had bested him using wandless magic, stolen Greyback’s wand, subdued Draco and used the werewolf to take down as many of the Dark Lord’s ranks as she could before he was inevitably killed, knowing she would be killed herself for her defiance.

Draco’s shoulders shook as he quietly wept, cradling the notebook to his chest. The puzzle piece was sliding ever closer. One day soon, maybe he would be able to reach out and grasp it. There was one thing he _ did _ know, and that was that he had loved her.

He had loved Hermione Granger, and she was dead, and he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed my dark and unhappy tale!


End file.
